


Pain Has an Element of Blank

by Elliott_Fletcher



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 05:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7347433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elliott_Fletcher/pseuds/Elliott_Fletcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are we going to be alright?"</p>
<p>"No," Alphonse breaths out, and then in and out, in and out, breathing heavily because none of the air will push through the weight building in his chest to reach his lungs. "I don't think we will be."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain Has an Element of Blank

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackcricket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackcricket/gifts).



**The heart asks pleasure first,**  
And then, excuse from pain;  
And then, those little anodynes  
That deaden suffering;

And then, to go to sleep;  
And then, if it should be  
The will of its inquisitor,  
The liberty to die.

-Emily Dickinson

* * *

  
"Are we going to be alright?"  
  
This was the question Alphonse heard the most of lately--in his thoughts, his dreams, and now, coming from his Brother's mouth. The usual response is to nod, smile, partially everything he was before, but now just melancholy flooded through his brow. Grief changes people. Grief changed  _him,_ both of them irrevocably.   
  
Alphonse exhales in tremors, earthquakes in his chest, and then he gathers all the strength of his feeble, child bones, and he shakes his head, jerkily, passionately, because finally he can say how not alright this is, how they can't live without their mother. His hands turn whiter than his pale skin, and he releases his clenched fists from the hem of his shirt to bring them to each other. Edward touches his shoulder, and he's broken too, but Edward's always been strong, with tougher bones than the bird-ish structure of Al's, and broader shoulders, and less sticky-outing elbows and ears.   
  
"No," Alphonse breaths out, and then in and out, in and out, breathing heavily because none of the air will push through the weight building in his chest to reach his lungs. "I don't think we will be."  
  
This is a whisper, and then everything becomes a whisper; the wind dies, and the trees rustling dampens, and the automobiles roar in the distance but only in the distance, and the road stays empty except for them. Their feet carry them home, and it's mindless walking because this is a road they've traversed many a time, and this isn't their first visit back to the cemetery since the burial ceremony. Edward sighs, rubs his cheekbone where the trails of dried tears from weeks ago still remain somehow, unable to disappear until this pain does, and Al thinks they will never go away. This pain will never end.  
  
"I'm supposed to be the pessimistic one," says Ed, but his voice is blank, bland, bitter, because grief has changed both of them.   
  
Al says, "I thought maybe we could share." He wrings his hands, and then watches his feet tumble forward blindly, and this isn't moving, it's being carried by the only person you can still rely on, can still depend on, because everyone else is dead. They stay silent, listening to each other's thoughts, but really just hearing the empty space between them where the leaves roll on the ground and the crickets chirp unknowingly.  
  
Ed takes a deep breath, and then he shoves his hands deep into his pockets, deep enough to escape and never return, and he doesn't take his hands out of the confines until he's started to speak. "So how are we going to get through this?"  
  
Al can feel the full tears form behind and around and everywhere in his eyes, until his vision is blurry and he has to hold onto Ed's arm, has to let him lead him. More tremulous breaths escape him, and then Ed stops walking, so he stops too. They turn into each other like magnets, and then cling because you can't loose a Mother alone, can't survive that without your Brother, younger or older. Al lets everything go, lets the tears escape to drown themselves in Ed's sleeve, and Ed clutches Al so tightly to him, holding the hairs on his head in his hands and pressing because the tears escape everywhere, like a broken dam, and Al's going to help him fix this.   
  
The sky has gone quiet again, and so have the brothers. They walk along, their home in sight, except there's no light flashing from the window, no one waiting for them, no one welcoming them. They might as well be walking into a stranger's home. The grief has made them strangers after all.  
  
Al says, when Ed has forgotten his question, when they are inside, wrapped tight in blankets in the same bed because nightmares are strong, and holding tight together like they were on the road, "we're not." And it's final, a decision, a  _no_  or  _yes_ , but not a  _maybe_. It's strong and broken, and Ed knows that they won't. They won't.


End file.
